


Take Me Back (to the Night We Met)

by queengabby



Series: memos [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Artistic Liberties, Connor dies but he gets better, Drama & Romance, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Good Cop Annoyed Cop and Drunk Cop continues, Good Cop Bad Cop, Heavy Petting, Kissing, Post-Game, Relationship Study, Sexual Content, Vignette, hey siri im gonna write connor and be horny, siri please tell me im valid, you shall see in time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-06-06 12:59:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15195299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queengabby/pseuds/queengabby
Summary: Connor kisses you goodbye, and now every time you go to sleep, you dream of a garden.





	1. I am not the only traveler (Who has not repaid his debt)

**Author's Note:**

> I can't stop listening to [Lord Huron](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtlgYxa6BMU)  
> This is going to be very EMO but I promise to balance it out with some funnier scenes. I won't leave y'all hanging either, I promise this will be a feel-good story. Soon. Just, trust me.  
> Thank you for all your support on Shake Me Down. I feel truly bless't

_“I had all, and then most of you,_

_Some, and now none of you”_

 

* * *

 

It starts with blue.

Pooling on the ground, underneath Connor’s suit jacket. Smeared on the pavement from where your car had turned upside down with both you and Connor inside of it. Blue blood reaches your knees where you kneel on the ground next to him, soaking into the fabric of your pants.

Two years of blue – of being alive and deviant and _free._

Every death Connor had ever endured was deemed necessary up until now – an unfortunate part of circumstance for the sake of his mission. But Connor hasn’t relied on resurrection in a long time.

Detroit was always known for having harsh winters. Even if cars were piloted there’s only so much maneuvering an auto system can do.

“Stay with me, okay?” you say to your partner.

“Sorry,” Connor grunts when you check his arm, and then his abdomen, punctured and bleeding. “My injuries are too severe,”

“No,” you cut him off, pressing a hand to his cheek. “You’ll be okay. We’ll ask CyberLife –”

“We _can’t_ ask CyberLife anymore. I already called emergency services,” his LED blinks yellow, “And I just called Hank.”

You start to panic, your heart racing. The scrapes on your face and hands are raw, and burning _—_ red and angry. Connor takes hold of your hand in his own, “You’ll be alright.”

You ignore his attempt to comfort you, furious and upset and terrified, “You can’t leave Connor, you _can’t—_ you can’t go, _”_

He pulls you forward, and you crane your neck to meet him, and he kisses you. Mouth familiar and gentle, and you can taste him and your tears and –

He pulls away, his mouth tinged blue from where he’d spit up blood before. His thumb brushes against your neck, and then the chain attached to the ring he gave you. Silver, bright blue, and shimmering under the street lights. He puts his forehead against yours for a moment before he breathes out, “No one’s ever really gone.”

 

And then the snow around you is the only thing that’s moving, because Connor has gone completely and irreversibly still.  

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

On Hank’s 54th birthday, you stepped outside of Jimmy’s Bar for a breath of fresh air. You always had difficulty in crowds, especially in places that felt so stuffy, and smelled so strongly – _yes,_ of middle aged men.

Although it’s early autumn, the wind isn’t terribly cutting. You leaned on the wooden patio extension, long since abandoned due to the chill of the colder season. The front door chimed again and Connor stepped out. The loud 80’s music echoed through the street before he pushed the door and muffled an unapologetically loud group sing-along of Kylie Minogue’s _Locomotion_.

“You’re quite predictable,” he joked.

“I’m a creature of habit and you’re a very good detective.” You quipped back.

“Do you need some space?” he asked, genuine concern in his voice.

“No, you can stay,” you turned to face him and he stood in front of you, his hand brushed your cheek affectionately.

“You look sad.”

“A little, I guess.”

“What’s bothering you?”

“We’ve…never celebrated your birthday proper.”

Connor tilted his head and raised a brow. “Where is this coming from?”

“And here I thought I was predictable.”

He sighed, but smiled all the same. “I seem to remember you asking me about this before, and I said I don’t need one.”

“That’s so _lame,_ Connor.”

“Alright, fine,” he put an arm around you, “how about you pick one?”

“You’re going to say no to every date.”

Connor gave you a quick kiss on your temple in reply. “Try me.”

“November 5th, the day you started the deviant investigation with Hank.”

“That’s bad.”

You laughed at how blunt he sounded. “Mean! You’re so mean to your girlfriend!”

“ _You’re_ mean to your _boyfriend._ Why would I celebrate that? Hank hated me.”

“He doesn’t hate you now!”

Connor rolled his eyes, and you knew you weren’t going to win.

“Okay, November 9th then.”

“You are determined to make me a Scorpio.”

You kissed him for how fucking _excellent_ of a joke that was. “I love you and that was extremely funny.”

“Thank you.”

“November 9th?” you repeat.

“The day I became deviant. How do you remember these?”

“I have a calendar – _no,”_ you pulled him closer to you by the tie and he goes willingly, eagerly, _“_ I’m a detective and I joined your investigation, how could I _not_?”  

The two of you paused your banter to share another kiss, Connor’s arms wrapped around you securely.

He pulled away, “Are you going to tell me why this is so important to you?”

You zeroed your gaze down at his tie, running your thumb along the embossed pattern. “You were designed to look like you’re in your late-twenties.”

“Correct,”

“And I’m in my mid-twenties now,” you trailed off.

“You’re worried about getting older while I stay the same.” He concluded.

You looked down, feeling self-conscious and apprehensive. Connor tilted your chin up and kissed you again, softer still, and tender in a way that made you shiver.

“Is it not enough that you make me happy?” he asked, almost in a whisper.

You kissed him again, filled with gratitude and love. Because it’s true – it’s always been enough. You could never ask for more.

“Yes.” You murmured.

 

And from within the pub, the celebration continued.

“Hank is _so_ old, Jimmy play Despacito,”

“Fuck you Jeffrey!” 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

You absentmindedly loop your finger through your ring, the chain that secures it to your neck makes a small indent where you press it to your fingertip. Your knuckles are bound in medical gauze, the bruises on your arms more pronounced in the clinical lighting of the Captain’s office.    

Hank is holding his head with one of his hands in frustration, not bothering to look up at Fowler.  

“I can’t pull any more strings, Hank.” Fowler continues, and you finally zone back in. “Since the deviant investigation is over, CyberLife has no real reason to send another Connor unit.”

“Why the fuck not! He was used as an experiment the whole fucking time anyway, what’s the harm in sending another one?”

“I _can’t.”_ Fowler repeats, a note of finality in his voice. When he looks over at you, his gaze turns softer, still. You’ve known these two for just as long as you knew Connor. You’ve known them and cared about them and worked with them, but in this moment, they may as well be strangers.

You stand up, even as Hank says something in protest. It’s easy to drown him out, opening the door of Fowler’s office and returning to your desk.

You can hear Hank yelling now, even through the glass.

_She shouldn’t be working! It’s only been a few days, she’s still traumatized!_

_She asked to come in Hank! Some people don’t skulk off to bars to deal with their problems!_

You turn around and chuck a nearby paper travel mug of coffee at the glass of Fowler’s office, making a loud enough noise that it interrupts their yelling, though it’s the large splash that makes them look up. Hank stares at you through streaks of almond milk and coffee and you stare back. Incapable of voicing your anguish, and too afraid to unlatch the vice around your broken heart.

You spent the rest of the afternoon in the evidence room, looking over old bits and pieces of things that helped Connor find Jericho. You open up Rupert’s diary and flip to a few different pages, your fingers running over the slight impression that the pen had left on the paper.

 

_The birds are my friends._

_The birds like being with me._

_They protect me. They reassure me._

_I look at them and feel peaceful_.

 

You stare down at the words for so long that your body begins to feel stiff when you try to change your posture. You snap the journal shut and put it back into the evidence locker. When you walk back up to the main floor, the windows outside reveal nothing but night sky.

A maintenance android is cleaning up the windows of Fowler’s office. He’s been deviant since the uprising, having been inspired by Connor. He also liked doing menial tasks around the precinct for a fair wage.

“I’m sorry about that.” You say, and when the android glances back at you he smiles.

“It’s no problem. I believe the Lieutenant cleaned the coffee off earlier, but I wanted to make sure the streaks were all gone.” He explains, kneeling to put his cleaning supplies down and to take his gloves off.

It’s quiet for a beat, and you’re about to wish him goodnight when he falters. “I’m sorry about…” he trails off, and he seems to know well enough to respect the fact that you probably didn’t want to discuss it. You understand the gesture though, and you appreciate it tenfold when it comes from a deviant since you _know_ they’re still learning. So you reach out and gently touch his arm, giving him a gentle smile.

There’s a moment where he stares at you with an expression you aren’t expecting – of confusion. And when he looks down at his hand, you notice the synthetic skin has been deactivated.

He looks up at you with a look of caution. “Are you feeling alright, detective?” and his hand returns to its original state.

“There you are,” a familiar voice calls to you, and the two of you jolt, turning to see Hank coming over.

“What are you doing here so late?” you frown.

“Waiting for you, obviously. You’re crashing at my place tonight.”

You feel an indigent temper bubble its way to the surface, “I’m not a _child—_ ”

“Go ahead then,” he says in challenge, daring you to make an outburst. You quickly shut your mouth. You know it’s for the best anyways. Your apartment is a mess and it’s admittedly hard for you to be alone in it. And it’s for the best for Hank, as well. Because there is a very real chance that, at this point, the only thing keeping the two of you going is each other.

  

* * *

 

 

“You can sleep in Connor’s room or on the couch with Sumo, it’s up to you.” Hank says, putting his car keys on a hook near the door. “Connor sometimes leaves the door open and Sumo will sneak in.”

You look around the house and note how immaculately clean it is in comparison to when you first met Hank. The floors aren’t sparkling or anything, but the lack of fast food containers and alcohol lying around is a vast improvement.

“You can do your laundry while you’re here too, just check above the washer for the –”

You interrupt Hank with a hug and he’s still for a moment before he returns it, gently at first, and then sincerely.

“I’m not giving up.” He says, and when you pull back, he’s smiling albeit painfully.

“I know.” You say, and you want to be honest with him so terribly. “I’ll be ok, I just…”

“I know.” He repeats, ruffling your hair. “Get some sleep, kiddo.”

Sumo sniffs your hand and you give him a considerate scratch behind the ears before retreating down the hall into Connor’s room.

Hank had decided to turn it into Connor’s room on his own terms. He didn’t _need_ a bedroom, but the significance of what Hank was doing for Connor – how he made space in his life and his home for him – it felt like a family.

You keep the door open a crack and turn on a nearby lamp. Connor’s room only has a day bed (for obvious reasons) so you slide the bottom rack out and make yourself comfortable. He’s also pretty minimalist except for a few knickknacks that line the windowsill. Most of them are cheap snow globes from tourist shops in different parts of Canada, sent by Kara and Alice. He also has a DCPD mug that holds a mini-screwdriver kit and other android self-care tools you aren’t well-versed in.

You change into some pajama pants you know he keeps in the cabinet, turn off the lamp, and get under the thick duvet. Sumo comes in and lies down on the floor in front of the bed, his steady breathing lulling you to sleep.

 

You dream of a garden.

 

It’s immaculate and beautiful but somehow synthetic in construction. The trees provide a canopy overhead, with hues of pink and green and red. You explore around the outer walkway, pristine white stones underfoot.

You stop in the shade to look around, and hear a distant voice. Something so so familiar that it tightens your chest. So you follow, your own footsteps growing louder, unbearably loud as you come across roses blooming on a trellis. And then when you gain a better view of the middle platform, you spot Connor. Smiling, speaking, but out of reach.

And your body is cold.

You wake up with a start, your nerves on end, your entire body sore. Sumo whines as you writhe, coming up to check on you. Your skin feels tacky as your adrenaline rush ends, and you know something isn’t right. Something inside of you is _wrong._

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the morning, you wake to Hank making pancakes. You step into the kitchen with Sumo on your heels, and when he turns around to greet you good morning, you stop him.

“I need to see Kamski.”


	2. I've been searching for a trail to follow again

Although Hank acquiesces to your request, you can tell he doesn’t like it. Possibly because he just doesn’t like Kamski. From what you can gather, Kamski seems arrogant and unpredictable. But you know that your options of getting Connor back are running dangerously low, and you need help.

You don’t know who else to ask.

You’re gripping the door handle as Hank drives, and if he notices, he doesn’t say anything about it. You trust Hank’s driving more than the auto-pilot vehicles, but being in any car for long periods of time still stresses you out.

“Where did this come from?” he asks, his eyes on the road.

You glance over at him from the passenger seat, “We don’t have many choices.”

“Alright.” he replies, and you wonder for a moment if that’s all it takes.

“You’re going to let me in on the _real_ reason, right?” he finally asks and you watch his profile for a quiet moment.

“Did Connor,” you swallow, “Did he ever tell you about the zen garden?”

“He mentioned it was part of his program,” Hank takes a right turn and heads out of the city. “But not much else.”

“I dreamt about it last night,” you peer out the window at the passing scenery. “I dreamt about _him_ last night.”

“In the garden?”

“Yes.” You look back at Hank, “I think he was talking to someone but the dream ended and I felt like I was…ripped out of it.”

“Well I suppose the only person who could help then, is the one who designed it.”

 

 

 

 

 

Chloe opens the door to Kamski’s house with a pleasant smile.

“Good morning Lieutenant Anderson.” She greets him, and he clears his throat.

“Good morning Chloe. We’re sorry we didn’t let Mr. Kamski know in advance…”

“It’s quite alright! Mr. Kamski is home so I’ll let him know you’ve arrived. And who is this?” she glances at you.

You introduce yourself, albeit quietly. You’re sure she can see how beat up you look – it’s only been a few days since the accident.

“Certainly. Welcome! Please come in, I’ll be a moment.” She ushers the two of you into the waiting room and Hank almost immediately drops down into the chair closest to the door.

Chloe steps out of the room through a side door while you gravitate towards a statue modelled to look like the framework of an android.

“Connor seemed interested in that, too.” Hank says, and you look back at him to see that he’s got his head resting on his hand, smiling softly.

“I read Connor’s report on your last visit,” you say, walking past the statue to look at the portrait of Kamski.

“Kamski seems more interested in philosophy than science.” You say passively, you don’t mean for it to come out sounding so derisive but Hank snorts in amusement.

Chloe returns a moment later, clasping her hands in front of her, “Mr. Kamski will see you now, lieutenant,” she nods to Hank, “detective,” and then to you.

The two of you follow Chloe down an enormous pristine hallway, and then turn left into a dining room that is designed to open up to a study. Wherever there aren’t windows, bookshelves line the walls instead. And they’re lined top to bottom with books made of actual paper. You suppose Kamski has money to burn.

Kamski is sitting at the dining table, having finished his breakfast. Another Chloe comes by to fill up his coffee cup before excusing herself from the room.

“Lieutenant Anderson,” Kamski greets, looking up from his magazine. “And…a new face.” He wipes his mouth with a napkin, offering the two of you to sit across from him.

“We’re sorry to come by unannounced, but the detective here, needed to see you.” Hank says, the two of you continue to stand.

Kamski looks you over as the first Chloe you met introduces you to him. “Interesting.” He looks over at Chloe, “Did the two of you want something to drink? Coffee, tea?”

“If I say yes, do I have to sit at the table?” you ask, and he smiles in amusement.

“No, I suppose not.”

“I’ll have a cup of coffee, then.”

“Make that two, if you’re offering.” Hank puts his hands in his pockets, and looks at you for a moment before making his way over to a bookshelf.

“What can I do for you, detective?” he asks, standing up from the table and taking his cup with him. He sets it down on another decorative table next to a small bronze statue of an outstretched hand.

“I was hoping to learn more about the zen garden you designed.”

He blinks, clearly surprised at the line of questioning. “I was expecting something concerning Connor.”

You look down and away, at the dark tiled flooring. You’re having a hard time already and it’s only been a few minutes.

“That too.” You admit, and he nods.

Chloe comes in with your coffee and hands a mug to Hank before coming over to you. She holds the rim of the mug in one hand and the handle with the other, carefully allowing you to take it out of her grasp. Your fingers brush hers when you take it, and Chloe shutters to a stop, the LED at her temple flickering yellow for a brief moment. The mug is perched between the two of you, unmoving, but Chloe’s synthetic skin starts to deactivate where you’re touching her.

“Chloe,” Kamski looks _alarmed,_ and so does Hank. It’s the same thing that happened with the maintenance android at the precinct.

The cup almost falls out of her hands, and you catch it quickly, movements stilted and awkward as you make sure not to spill any of the contents. You have a growing terrible luck with coffee.

As soon as the two of you aren’t touching, Chloe blinks rapidly, her LED returning to blue. “I…” she trails off, looking up at you, confusion etched in her features. “Connor?”

You feel like your heart stops beating, and then restarts with a heavy thud. The room is silent, save for the clock that ticks in the corner.

“That isn’t detective Connor, Chloe.” Kamski says, measured.

“But…” she looks at you frowning, “I felt…Connor.”

Kamski looks like he’s trying to process what’s happening, and then turns to you.

“Have you seen an android interface before?”

“All the time.” You reply softly, your eyes still on Chloe’s.

“Go ahead then,” he urges, and you blink, looking over at Kamski.

“What?”

“Try interfacing with Chloe.”

“Mr. Kamski,” you almost want to laugh at having to clarify, “I’m human.”

He rolls his eyes, “Humor me, please, detective.”

So you put down the mug and roll up the sleeves of your flannel, extending your arm to Chloe. You see her synthetic skin overlay begin to disappear, and then you’re linked forearm to forearm.

“Chloe,” Kamski says, and then you see her LED blink yellow as she closes her eyes.

And something happens.

It starts small, your arm feels like it’s tingling where you’re pressed skin to skin with the android. But then it’s like an uncomfortable pull, something underneath your skin rushing to the surface.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“Ow, _ow!”_

“Hold still you big baby.” You pulled at the wires connecting his shoulder to his dislocated arm.

“You’re being unnecessarily rough because you’re angry at me.” Connor replied, watching you work.

“Wow! Have you ever thought of becoming a detective?”

“You shouldn’t bully me.”

“I’m not bullying you, I’m fixing you.”

“Did you read the RK800 handbook? The blue wire—”

“ _Connor.”_ You said finally. You leaned back, putting your hands over your face. You’d been at his repair for only a half an hour but you were struggling already. It was early in the morning and nobody was even at the precinct yet.

Connor closed his mouth, sitting at his desk with his arm lying uselessly on the table. He’d jumped out a window and landed on a suspect you were chasing, knocking the man unconscious but dealing a serious blow to his own arm.

You continued to cover your face, trying not to think about how much worse it could’ve been. If he had missed –

You felt a hand on your knee and then peeked up at him from between your fingers. You sighed, “Don’t try flirting your way out of this one. You’re still armless and I’m still mad.”

“I wasn’t trying to flirt with you, I was trying to comfort you.”

There’s silence as he continues stroking your knee with his thumb, “But if you’d _like_ me to flirt,”

You let out a frustrated noise and uncovered your face, tugging his working arm so that his desk chair rolled closer to you, and you kissed him.

Connor always gave as good as he got, the two of you standing up in unison, and he leaned into you, pressing you against your desk until your nametag clattered loudly to the floor.

You’re angry and you’re relieved, and you know it’s coming across all wrong because you don’t know how to tell him how important he is to you without sounding insincere or upset.

The desk scraped across the floor as Connor pressed his hips to yours, and you let out a noise that shouldn’t ever be used anywhere near a public space.

His mouth opens, hot and inviting, and you returned it without hesitation, your hands gliding up from his chest to his neck. And then your hand touched the beginning of his shoulder, of where his arm used to be, and you pulled back.  

You didn’t want to fight anymore. You just wanted him to get better. Connor kissed your eyelids, and then your cheeks, tilting your chin up with his good arm to kiss you on the mouth once again.

There was a quiet comfort between the two of you. It was an apology of sorts, that Connor tried to convey to you. That he was okay, that he was still with you.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” you murmured, and he smiled.

“No, I thought maybe if I protested enough, I could sneak a kiss in.”

“You _always_ sneak a kiss in.”

“Is that a complaint? I’ll have to report it to the human resources divi—”

And you kissed him again.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Fascinating.” Kamski says.

Chloe takes a step back and Kamski looks to her, “What did you see?”  

“They were only brief flashes,” she trails off and then looks up at you.

“Anything will do, Chloe.”

Chloe’s LED blinks yellow like before as her eyes scan back and forth, sifting through information, “I saw the zen garden, and Amanda. I saw Connor confiding in her. I saw a row boat.” She looks down at the ground in concentration. “I saw Hank in front of the Chicken Feed,” she looks up in surprise and confusion, her LED now red, “I saw Connor hold the detective’s hand.”

You feel your throat tighten.

“And then I saw…glass. Blood and glass, and snow.”

You turn away, you can’t look, you don’t want to listen.

“Connor was bleeding. The detective and Connor —”

“That’s enough.” Hank interrupts and Chloe startles, looking at the lieutenant. Her LED goes back to yellow, and she glances to you. You look up and see her studying you, inquisitive and apologetic, stepping closer.

“I’m sorry.” She says, her LED blue.

You shake your head, “It’s fine,” you croak.

The room settles into silence, and then Chloe does something – she steps forward again, and puts her hand on your arm.

You look up in surprise, not expecting her to initiate any sort of contact with you unless asked.

“Chloe,” Kamski looks at her, and she looks back at him. You’ve never seen such intrigue before, “Did you see Connor’s part in the uprising?”

She looks conflicted for a moment before letting you go, “Yes.”

“His memories turned you deviant.”

She remains quiet, but then looks at him, “Yes.”

“Incredible.” He breathes.

Hank looks between you and Chloe before folding his arms over his chest, “Can you at least explain what the hell is going on?”

Kamski sighs, still looking pleasantly surprised, and sits down in one of the armchairs in the study. “I have a theory.”

“Let’s hear it.” Hank says.

He pauses, and then smiles. “Detective,” he looks up at you, at the chain around your neck and the ring that hangs loosely near your breastbone, “How long have you been in love with Connor?”

You stare back at him, trauma numbing the bluntness of his question. Something that doesn’t concern him – something that’s _none_ of his business. But you need answers, and he seems like he might have them. Hank makes an angry noise on your behalf, about to intervene when you put your hand up in a silencing motion. He grouses quietly, and sits on a nearby sofa.

You look back at Kamski, “Years.”

“Alright. And now, I know this may be difficult, but I need you to be more specific on the accident.”

“In what way.” You shoot back. You refuse to let your mind wander without direction, it would only lead to dark and invasive thinking.

“I’ll try to make this simple. Answer with either yes or no.”

You nod once.

“Did you sustain an open wound during the accident?”

“Yes.”

“Did you bleed?”

“Yes.”

“And were you exposed to Connor’s blood?”

You shut your eyes, willing the memories to cease. “Yes.” You look up at him.

Hank makes a warning noise at Kamski.

“I know lieutenant, just hold on.” He says, and Chloe takes a seat next to Hank on the sofa. She doesn’t touch him, but she gives him a gentle and sympathetic look.

“Something happened that night, detective. Something very interesting and important that I think you need to know about.” He looks over at Chloe, “The garden that Chloe described is the same one I’m sure Connor has told you about. It’s a digital interface I designed.”

“Androids can mentally enter the location,” he continues, “And during Connor’s investigation, he was making reports periodically to his handler.”

“S’why he always has his eyes closed after a mission.” Hank folds his arms over his chest again, leaning back on the sofa.

“I don’t want us to get hung up on that, however. What’s important is that night.” He puts his hands out in front of him to articulate, “The night you exposed yourself to Thirium 310. Connor’s blue blood entered your own blood stream.”

“Thirium is an active component in red ice, it causes all sorts of physical and mental degeneration in humans.” Hank interrupts.

“If smoked, yes. But this is pure Thirium, there _is_ a difference.”

“What, you a chemist now?”

Kamski smiles at Hank, exasperated, “If you don’t want my help –”

“We do.” You glare at Hank who sits back with a huff.

“So what’s wrong with me?” you ask.

“Nothing is _wrong_ with you. Actually you may be able to solve your own problem.” He stands up and starts walking around the library in contemplation, “Blue blood can be used to forensically identify androids. It holds immense amounts of energy and,” he turns to look at you. “Information: the model, the serial number,” he trails off, “perhaps an android’s _memories,”_

You look at him in shock. “Chloe didn’t interface with me, she interfaced _through_ me – with the Thirium still in my bloodstream. She interfaced with Connor.”

Kamski points to the wrist you used to interface with Chloe. “He never died.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really really really hope this is conveyed right!!! ;o; I wanted to try something new with blue blood because i find it's so fascinating! and Kamski is so...one-dimensional in the game, I want to explore what he could've been lmao, sorry because of Nothing david
> 
> this will be continued but I'll be working away at Shake Me Down next, please look forward to it! and thank you so much for reading!


	3. And then I can tell myself (what the hell I'm supposed to do)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cursing, kissing, a sprinkle of plot (i think?) and heavy petting --
> 
> did i mention the cursing? _fuck_

On the third week of dating Connor, he walks to your apartment like any other day. But halfway down the block, a torrential downpour starts. The two of you are quickly left distraught but _laughing_ – absolutely soaking wet.

You bring Connor into your apartment and fetch a towel from the bathroom. When you return, he’s taken his shoes off but hasn’t left the entryway. You give him a smile, but pause, as he looks at you nervously.

“Hank told me I tend to trail water in with me.” he says, and you approach with a fond smile.

You throw the towel over his shoulders and wipe his cheeks. Connor watches you, taking quiet pleasure in your company.

When you look up into his eyes, Connor leans forward, nose bumping into your own briefly. You laugh, broken by his soft kisses. The towel drops to rest on his shoulders, Connor opening his mouth to you in a way that has you chasing him for more. You tug the towel around his neck so that he can’t escape, and his hands wrap around you, just as eager, and just as close.

Connor abruptly stops the kiss, his voice almost a whisper, “I have to tell you something.”

Your fear of breaking this special moment keeps your reply just as hushed, “Alright, go for it.”

Connor’s LED turns yellow, and then red, and then back to yellow.

One of your hands let go of the towel to reach out and touch his cheek, concerned. “Hey, talk to me.”

He looks anywhere but your face, and then his eyes close in consternation. He opens them, and looks at you. “I should’ve brought this up sooner.”

You shake your head in confusion, “What’s wrong?”

“You know about the WR400 models.”

You shrug, uncertainty evident in your voice, “The ones at Eden Club, sure.”

“The WR400 models are androids with working—”

He hesitates, and for someone who is so able to shut off facial tells of how he’s feeling, Connor looks—

Dejected.

And you know, because you’ve seen androids before, that they were designed to perform specific tasks.

From his hesitance, you know it’s something he’s put a lot of thought into.

“They’re the _only_ models who…” he trails off again, clearly not wanting to say the truth. And then the dejection changes to panic.

_Oh._

You understand now, and the physical ache you feel to comfort him is enormous.

You put a hand on both his cheeks, tugging him forward until he meets your mouth. It’s gentle, and affectionate, and you hope he understands just how much you love him _._ Nothing, _nothing_ would change that.

The two of you stand together, exchanging soft kisses until he relaxes in your hold. He quiets, and watches you carefully.

“Connor it seems like we need to clarify some things.” You take his hands and give them a squeeze, “First off, you _must_ know I fell in love with you for _you_ and not for your…features.”

He looks to the side but you urge him to look at you, thumb brushing his cheekbone, “secondly, I don’t know what kind of biased _research_ you considered, but a dick isn’t the sole part of the sex equation.”

He looks at you then, both appalled at having you be so blunt, and having you be so _right,_ “but—”

“The only _butt_ I want to see is yours.”

He swallows, trying for a smile though he still looks nervous, “I,” he swallows again, “have one of those.”

You curl up close to him again, hands trailing lower until they rest on his hips, “With those jeans, I can _imagine,”_

Connor’s LED blinks yellow at the same time as blue blood rushes to his cheeks and he looks positively debauched. “I thought I’d have to explain it more…clearly.”

“I _am_ a detective, you know.” you smile, teasing, “Despite how much time I spend spilling coffee on myself and _also_ others. Rather than, you know, doing my job.”

He shakes his head, smiling, kissing your cheek affectionately. “I love the way you spill your coffee.”

“How very flattering.” you smarm, but you’re interrupted by another one of his kisses, so damn _sweet_ and endearing. You could never possibly tire of Connor kissing you. Your arms wrap around his neck and he supports your back, even as you part to speak again.

“Part of the fun is figuring out each other anyway. You’ve got hands, I’ve got hands,” you inch forward onto your tip toes to kiss him again, and he feels like he’s melting into your touch, pliant and gentle.

You pull back and you almost laugh when he chases your movement, eyes half lidded, “You’ve got a mouth, I’ve got a—”

He nods quickly, clearly losing patience with your teasing. One of his hands comes up to hold the back of your neck, in a way that feels possessive, sending a thrill down your spine. He kisses you again, tongue coming out to brush yours. When you break apart, you gasp.

“Oh my god.”

“What’s wrong?” he looks like he’s about to try to scan you for injury but you don’t even give him a moment’s pause.

“Nothing, that was so hot.”

He looks like he can’t decide between being flustered and being proud. “Assertiveness is alright?”

“Yeah,” you nod quickly, “Yes, absolutely,”

There’s no hesitance when you brush the seam of his mouth with your tongue, using your hand to tug on his tie, working at the knot with dangerous efficiency.

His LED blinks yellow, looking down at your hand and then up into your eyes.

“Good?” you ask.

“Yeah,” He smiles, “Yes, absolutely.” he parrots your earlier enthusiasm and you laugh. When you slip his tie off, he helps you pull your jacket off your shoulders, and then you drape it over the nearby armchair.

“The furniture, it’ll get wet—” Connor interrupts the moment, but then his eyes almost bug out of his skull when he notices you pulling your shirt over your head.

“Only one thing you should worry about right now,” you start to come up with some borderline nasty and frankly _ridiculous_ joke to cut through the tension you feel, but Connor’s eyes are fixated on the sudden display of skin and the plunge of your bra. The next thing you know, he’s picking you up in his arms, carrying you to the bedroom.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

“Why are all of Connor’s friends loaded?” Hank asks, as the two of you both peer up at Carl Manfred’s home. You knock on the door and it takes a moment before anyone answers.

North opens the door, her face severe, but then relaxing when she realizes who you are.

“Oh, hey,” she says, a bit surprised and a bit confused. “The detective and lieutenant Anderson.”

“Hey North,” you greet. “I was wondering if Markus is around.”

“Yeah he’s helping some of the others inside, come on in.”

You step in first, with Hank following behind. The entrance hall looks brighter than you remember. You don’t know much about Carl except the fact that he’s a renown painter. Connor had told you the resentment between Markus and Carl’s son, but that he had moved away from Detroit due to the temptation of red ice. Carl contacted Markus after the uprising, his health doing better since learning about his former assistant’s peaceful methods for android freedom. He opened his house to Markus and the last members of Jericho, providing a much-needed sanctuary.

It’s by no means discreet, but neither are the deviants who live here.

You walk into the library, the doors to the studio are open, letting sunlight pour into the main gathering area. You can see Carl in the other room, talking avidly to a few other androids and teaching them how to paint.

You don’t recognize many of the occupants lounging in the library. There are a few that Markus had introduced you to while you visited the sanctuary for the first time with Connor. Despite being without your partner this time, you were happy to see all of them in good spirits.

You spot Simon, sporting an apron with spatters of paint and his sleeves rolled up. He’s talking to Josh and blue-haired Traci, the latter wearing a studio jumpsuit. The kitchen door slides open and Markus comes in, a huge roll of canvas under his arm and a tray full of blue liquid-filled mugs in his hands. Simon notices, and comes running over to take the tray.

“What’ve I told you about taking two trips?” Simon tuts him as you walk over to the group. Markus gives him a guilty smile and, upon noticing you and Hank, lets Simon take the tray over to the dining room table.

“You even forgot the milk and sugar for Carl,” North chides, albeit playfully.

Markus scoffs, looking over at North, “Tell him not to make it sickly sweet and it won’t be a problem.”

“Tell that to your boyfriend. He’s got a soft spot for _Grandpa Manfred,_ ” North smarms, going into the kitchen, “Eight sugar cubes or ten Simon?”

Simon sighs, “ _Three,_ North…and they’re not even cubes!”

Markus rolls up his sleeves as he walks over to you and brings his arms out for an invitation to step closer. You close the distance, giving him a tight hug.

“Hey,” he pats your back gently, extending an arm to Hank for him to shake as you step back from the embrace. “I kinda figured we’d be seeing you two show up at some point, but I didn’t know if you’d be up for it so soon. I’m so sorry…”

You nod, his sympathy nearly breaking your composure but you keep it together. Hank had told Markus a bit after the accident, wanting to keep the android’s leader in the loop.

“I didn’t know if we would be able to catch you while you were here, I know you’ve been travelling.” you explain, pulling back.

Markus shrugs, “I’ve been trying to stay in one place for Carl’s sake.”

“He’s just worried about you,” you smile and Markus lets out a soft laugh.

“I keep _telling_ him to take it easy.”

“Looks like he’s doing more than that – he’s having fun.” Hank nods his head in the direction of the studio as Markus laughs. He gestures for the two of you to sit down at the dining table.

“So I have…a proposition.” you start, and Markus raises a brow.

“Shoot.”

You fold your hands on the table, as Simon and North return to the discussion, pulling up their own chairs.

“More like, a favor.” you clarify.

Markus smiles, “Either way, I’m all ears.”

And it strikes you how _generous_ this man is. He’s gentle and kind and giving. You can’t imagine a better person to ask.

You look him in the eyes, “I want to steal an RK800 unit.”

North looks like she’s flickering through several different emotions before shaking her head, “You’re nuts.”

“Probably.” you say, and then put out a hand in front of you, inviting any of the three androids to take hold. “But I’ve got pretty good incentive.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

“I— just did a bit more research.” Connor interrupts, the two of you stretched out on your bed after he’d carried you to your room. Your bed is a double, so he’s practically lying on top of you, trying to keep either of you from falling off.

“That so?” you smile softer now, because you know he did it for your benefit.

“I’m wondering if…” he trails off when you pull him over, your knees cradling his hips, and kiss him again. Your fingers brush behind his ears and he shivers.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” you murmur.

“I’m _not_ nervous,” he interjects, his face turns a darker shade than before, blue blood rushing to his cheeks in defense. You bite your tongue, smiling up at him. It’s quiet for a beat, and then he sighs.

“I am. A little.” he corrects.

“Being nervous isn’t a bad thing – I’m nervous too,” you shrug.

“You are?”

“Connor, you always analyze people’s heartbeats. Don’t tell me you haven’t checked mine.”

He looks to the side, “I’ve been…distracted.”

“I’ll _bet_.” you grin.

Connor rolls his eyes then, “Being self-congratulatory doesn’t look good on anyone, detective.”

“Are you really gonna call me detective when I’ve got my shirt off and I’m under you?”

His LED turns yellow rapidly, and then seems to remember the situation the two of you are in. Oh right,

Sex.

“What would you like me to call you?” he asks.

You feel your face burn, suddenly awkward and flustered, “I don’t know, I haven’t thought about it.”

“Your breathing pattern just changed rapidly, which is a clear indication that you’re lying.”

“Oh so _now_ you’re analyzing m—!”

He kisses you then, and you don’t bother acting timid. You sigh into his mouth, arms coming around his neck. Connor balances one forearm near your head, and lets the other hold your hip. His thumb brushes near your navel and you let out a shaky breath, whining when his hand pauses.

“I could implement my research—”

“For christ’s _sake_!” you’re about to cuss him out because god you just want him to _touch you,_ but then he does you both a favor when his fingers tug at the waistband of your leggings. “Oh,” you swallow and Connor has the audacity to _smirk._

“Allow me,” he murmurs, turning so that he’s lying on his side next to you, where you lie flat on your back still.

“You’re supposed to squish me, bot boy,” you murmur but he only presses closer, not allowing the change in position to mean anything but anticipation for things to come.

You tug him closer so that you can kiss him again and he returns it without pause, his hand snaking into the front of your underwear (how did he do that so fucking fast?). You can feel the inner muscles of your thighs twitch as he reaches lower, and lower, and –

“Connor!” you practically jump when his fingers brush against the beginning of your folds.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes,” you grab his wrist and breathe out in a shudder. “Oh my god I just can’t believe this is happening.”

Connor lets out a breathless noise at that, clearly on the verge of laughter. “Is it so impossible?”

“No, I—fuck!” you’re interrupted when Connor _moves_ his fingers, running them over your clit at an agonizing pace.

“You fuck?”

“ _Fuck_ you,” you huff out, quickly replaced with a moan. His fingers move down and you feel like you’re sweating, your entire body pulled taut. And it’s driving you nuts that Connor looks as calm as ever, safe for the LED on his temple that spins honey gold.

Your grip on his wrist relaxes as he moves his fingers further down, and you can tell you’re wet when he _presses,_

“Ohhh, my god,” you moan again, “Get my pants off, get them off now,” you say in a rush, and Connor tugs one side while you take the other. You don’t even _care_ that you’re spreading your legs like a fucking starfish, you just want his hands on you again.

“Is that nice? Did you want me to eat y-” he starts to ask, but you shake your head. You're too desperate to have his arms around you. 

Next time. There will be a next time for that. And so as an answer, you hook your arm around his neck, tugging him down until you can kiss him hotly. You part your lips and brush your tongue against his with _no_ sense of courtesy. But Connor doesn’t seem to mind, taking the initiative to use his hand again, and _bless him_. You huff out a moan when Connor returns to his earlier task, bordering your clit on either side with gentle fingers, massaging back and forth at a pace that makes you tremble.

You sway in time to Connor’s fingers, and then you bring up your free hand to touch behind his ear again and his pace falters _._

And then Connor lets out a ghost of a moan that leaves you wide-eyed.

He stares back at you, clearly surprised with his own reaction. “I don’t—I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t tell me about _that,_ ” you smile, and he looks nervous.

“It’s a bit…strange.” and for all his enthusiasm, it worries you that Connor seems so afraid of scaring you away.

“You’re dating a human and I’m dating an android. We’re both way past strange, Con—NOR!” your voice hitches when his fingers move against your folds and he looks _smug._

“Kiss me you bas—mmf,” you’re cut off when Connor kisses you first, _eagerly._ If it’s to shut you up or to keep you both in this moment, you don’t care at this point.

He starts moving his hand again and you whimper into his mouth, his touch gentle but unrelenting. He circles your clit with his fingertips, applying enough pressure to have you keening. And the force at which you clench your thighs around his arm, the shout of pleasure you let out at your climax, leaves you delirious.

He strokes his fingers along your folds, your entire body jerking with overstimulation. His hand comes up to his face and you beg in your mind for him not to do it but you know it’s too late when he presses his tongue to the slickness on his fingertips. Tasting.

_Fuck._

You can’t watch, you can’t, but you _do –_ and your chest is heaving with effort. He notices you staring at him, and he puts his hand down, his free (and clean) one coming up to brush the hair from your face affectionately.

“Good?” he asks, genuinely. And the absolute love you feel for him propels you forward, knocking him onto his back instead. You press your mouth to his, warm and _happy._ When you pull apart, you tug on the collar of his shirt, keeping him close enough that your lips brush as you speak.

“Show me where to touch you,” you murmur, and when Connor looks up at you, he smiles.


	4. When the night was full of terrors (And your eyes were filled with tears)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for sticking with me!!!!! I'm planning around two more chapters ^p^ pls enjoy

You break from Markus’ grasp, slowly, uneasily.

“How’s this even possible?” he presses the palm of his hand to his eye, trying to concentrate, trying to _understand._ You can see the synthetic skin of his arm return to his fingers, back to its natural place.  “You’re like, some sort of conduit now? A conduit for Connor?”

“I think so.” you look down at your own arm. You half expect it to show evidence of what’s going on but it’s as you remember – utterly ordinary. Not a mark in sight. 

“You’re not in danger, are you?” Markus asks.

Hank explains on your behalf as you gain your bearings, “Connor’s blue blood won’t mix with the detective’s red blood, Kamski said it’s too complex.”

“So you want to steal an RK800 unit from CyberLife, restore Connor’s memory with his last backup, and then interface any missing bits and pieces back to him.” Simon concludes and you nod.

“Exactly.”

“How the hell do you convince CyberLife to hand over another Connor?” North sits on the table, one of her knees held to her chest.

Simon folds his arms, looking down at the floor, “It’s been a couple of years, what if they’ve deemed his model unsuccessful?”

“Kamski told us that CyberLife keeps old Android models for reference purposes, up until there’s a newer version.” Hank replies, leaning back in his chair.

“I say we break into the tower then,” North says shrugging, and Simon scoffs.

“Yeah let’s waltz into their HQ,” he clasps his hands together, “and politely ask them to hand over an _advanced_ prototype unit deemed unfit because of its tendency to _deviate.”_

“Then what do you suggest?” North snaps, and you feel your head drop, heavy with their bickering. “Not like they have RK800 units lying around. We can do some voice recon on the guards, check out their security—”

“It’s not the same as it was during the uprising.” Simon replies, “And breaking into the place that designed us isn’t insurrectionary, it’s just predictable.”

And then Simon is sideways.

Because your blood feels like it’s rushing the wrong way in your body, and you can’t get enough air to compensate for the sudden vertigo. Hank is shouting, his voice far away.

And you’re falling.

You don’t even make it to the floor before your vision goes dark.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Your disorientation disappears, and you sit up with a start.

You’re not in Carl’s house anymore.

But to your surprise, the room is still familiar – just in an entirely _different_ way. A canopy of trees rustle overhead, casting shade against the pristine white walkway you’d only encountered in a recent memory. You realize that you’re intruding on a space you, theoretically, shouldn’t even be able to visualize. And it doesn’t matter how obviously synthetic the environment is, because the Zen garden isn’t catered for someone like you.

It’s designed for someone like Connor.

“—m pleased you were able to save Emma.” you can hear a murmur of a conversation from the center of the garden. You recognize the trellis from your last visit, though this time you can see the person Connor is speaking with. She’s an older woman, hair done up into an intricate tuck. Her dark hair refracts light, winks of rich blue catching your eye when she turns her head to spray water on the nearby roses.

“As am I.” Connor replies, and your eyes flit over to him. Your partner, so familiar and yet still a stranger. His jaw works, his eyes downcast. You know he’s thinking deeply about something, though it’s stiffer than you remember. The urge to brush his hair from his face is unbearable, but neither of them seem to notice you, even as you join them on the widened part of the tiled pathway.  

“It’s a shame you had to sacrifice yourself, however.” Amanda’s fingers ghost along the base of a rose, then she looks back to Connor. “But stopping that deviant was still priority, I’m glad you didn’t stray from your purpose.”

 “A small price to pay, I think.” Connor agrees and she smiles. Something about it makes your skin crawl with unease. You walk over so that you’re standing next to Connor, though there’s no indication he senses your presence.

“While you’re making your report, I’ve done the liberty of connecting you to the network so you can gather the evidence you had from your previous body.” Amanda explains.

Connor tilts his head, “I wasn’t repaired at CyberLife?”

“I admire your tenacity,” she smiles, “but you fell from the 70th floor – that’s hard to walk away from, even for an android.”

He frowns, still in thought, “They were able to make another prototype so I can continue my mission?”

“Of course,” Amanda sprays another batch of roses, circling both you and Connor as she works at an unhurried pace. “It takes priority, we want to support you.”

“Thank you.” he says.

Amanda smiles all-too pleasantly, setting down her spray bottle to stand in front of Connor, and the garden feels _different_ somehow.

The sound of the lake’s water beneath the white-tiled bridge crawls to a stop, the trees around you cease in sound completely.

“We took the liberty of transporting you to the store nearest to your next assignment.” Amanda speaks slowly, deliberately, and when you glance over at Connor he’s not looking at her.

 

He’s looking at you.

 

“1301 3rd Avenue,” she says, and Connor’s eyes don’t waver from yours even for a moment. He’s hypnotic, and even though he’s not talking it feels like he’s trying to _tell_ you something. Amanda’s words ring in your head, “DPD Central Station.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You sit up with a start, nearly concussing Hank with your forehead. He leans back just in time, reactionary cusses quickly following. You hear him shout something akin to _relief_ after, even as your breath heaves out of you. You’re back in the deviant sanctuary, on the floor of Carl Manfred’s living room.

“Hey, hey, you’re alright,” Markus is kneeling next to you, holding your shoulder with one hand, another on your back. “Detective, breathe.”

“She _is_ in danger.” Simon supplies the answer from the earlier question and Hank doesn’t look happy.

You can feel someone press their thumb to your wrist, over your pulse, and then North is leaning away, “Her heartrate is still high but it’s levelling out. Lieutenant, can I borrow your flashlight?”

There’s a low rustling and then North is on the opposite side of Markus, tilting your chin up. “Look at me,” she orders. Even though your head is pounding at the same rhythm of your heart, you’re too intimidated by North to deny her request. You look up at her, and see a brief flash of light pass over your vision before she leans back again. North hands the flashlight back to Hank and looks to Markus.

“She hit her head pretty hard when she fell, but there’s no sign of a concussion.” she supplies and he nods in reply.

“I’m fine.” you garble and North rolls her eyes as Markus tries to hide his smile.

“Very convincing, detective.”

“I’m just dizzy,” you grouse, and Hank comes into your narrow field of vision, picking you up with minimal effort. “Hank, fuck off,” you grunt.

“Just shut up.” he snaps back. And even though it’s embarrassing to be treated like this, you know there’s nothing you can do to stop him. His expression is severe as he takes you over to lay you on the sofa.

He feels responsible. You know he does.

And you can’t imagine the position he’s put in – having to watch both detectives put under his care end up in such disrepair. One decommissioned, the other verging on collapse.

“I’ll get some tea,” Simon offers and you don’t bother telling him to forget it, you just let yourself be taken care of.

When you look over at Hank, he’s sitting in a chair, looking at the floor. His posture is hunched over, shoulders heavy and tired. You reach out a hand and touch his calloused knuckles, trying to encourage him to look up at you.

“I’m okay.”

“No you’re not.” he replies, too quickly. As if he knows what you’re saying before it passes your lips. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“I can and I will.”

“Connor wouldn’t want you to.” he says, and the anger that flares up inside your stomach surprises you. It’s a low blow. You know Hank knows it too. And it takes everything you have not to snap back in indignation.

“I don’t care.” you say instead, an easy lie, your voice surprisingly level. You know you’ve won when you see Hank stare back at you angrily, provoked by such a dishonest answer.

But Simon comes between the two of you just in time. A mug of green tea in his hands, a spoonful of honey swimming in the bottom of the cup. You sigh, and thank him quietly, taking the mug in both your hands.

“You _should_ care.” Hank says, falling into the lie easy enough. He watches Simon walk back to another chair, the momentary distraction having staved off his fury.

Markus and North stay out of your bickering, knowing better than to poke the bear that is Hank Anderson.

You stare down at your tea, “1301 3rd Avenue.” you recite the precinct’s address – the one Amanda had told Connor in the garden. You look up at Markus, “Where’s the nearest store to central station?”  

“A couple of blocks south. Why?”

“When I fainted, I was in the zen garden with Connor and his handler, Amanda. I think I was seeing…” you close your eyes, trying to recall _something,_ “I think I was seeing a memory.”

“Must be the blue blood in your system.” North suggests, and Markus nods in agreement.

“But Connor _looked_ at me.”

“Looked at you?” Markus tilts his head and you nod once, looking up at him.

“Memories aren’t perfect.” Hank speaks up and you glance over at him. His arms are crossed over his chest and he’s looking down at the carpet near the sofa. “Whatever he wants you to focus on, you should start there. Forget the rest.”

You nod once, trying to put the pieces together, “Amanda said the last time a new Connor had to be dispatched, they transported him to the nearest CyberLife store to central station.”

“So you think since the DCPD deviant investigation went on for so long they just stockpiled a bunch of spare Connors in case he died.” Markus concludes.

“Right.”

“Even so, it’s been two years since the uprising. Do you really think they’d leave him there? Wouldn’t they bring him back to the tower?” North asks.

“They didn’t need him anymore.” you say, and when you look down into your mug, the honey has disappeared.

North disagrees, “Even _if_ they left him there, he’ll just be a base model though, he won’t be _your_ Connor.” she reasons, “And there’s no guarantee they haven’t trashed the last of those models.”

“North—” Markus looks up at her with a frown, but Simon intervenes first.

“If his last model was _deemed_ unsuccessful, don’t you think they’d just shove him in a back cabinet to collect dust?” he asks, and when Markus looks over at him he just shrugs. “They don’t care that much about us defects, do they?”

“No.” North says, her cadence suggesting she agrees with his perspective.

“Then I guess we’ll need the address to that store.” you conclude.

“Simon and I will accompany you.” North says, and Markus stands up.

“I’m going too.” he says.

“No you’re not.” North replies hastily, and you look over at Hank who’s looking at the three androids now. There’s something going on here.

“What’s the problem?” you ask, setting down your empty mug.

“The _problem_ is that Markus is a wanted man.” North snorts.

“ _What?”_ you look up at Markus, “Since when?”

He looks exasperated but doesn’t bother hiding the truth, “Since Agent Perkins deemed me a potential threat.”

“Well, _fuck.”_ Hank seethes, glancing to you. “I told you that guy was a piece of shit.”

“Wait,” you put your hand up, “How did I not know about this?” you meet Hank’s gaze.  

“The DCPD didn’t keep Markus on a list because he’s not a threat.” Hank explains, “I didn’t know the FBI was keeping tabs on him. But then again, last time we spoke, Perkins made it pretty fucking clear _our_ work doesn’t intersect with federal business.”

“And then you beat the shit out of him.” you quirk a smile and Hank shrugs, trying to hide a grin.

“Basically, if Perkins thinks I’m doing any kind of illegal activity, he’ll know about it.” Markus says.

“It’s not _technically_ illegal,” you shrug, “Kamski didn’t say it was.”

“Mr. Kamski is hardly the authority on what’s unlawful.” Hank supplies.

“It’s _his_ company,” you argue.

“Former.”

“You’re such a bummer, Hank!”        

“I’m still in, regardless.” Markus chimes in.

“ _No_.” Simon and North say in unison.

“Connor risked everything for us once, too.” Markus says, and you can see the two other androids falter. He looks over at you and smiles. “Whatever it is, I’ll be glad to return the favor.”  


	5. I don't know what I'm supposed to do (Haunted by the ghost of you)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ✨get in touch✨  
> [tumblr](https://comedy-witch.tumblr.com)

“Remind me again how we’re doing this.” You say, sitting in the driver’s seat of Hank’s car. The bobble head on his dashboard rattles pleasantly against the hum of the engine.  

“Simon is going to deactivate the security cameras at the front entrance by overloading a nearby transformer.” Markus says, from the backseat. “From there, I’ll find a way to unlock the gate and open the door.”

North continues, “We meet back up with Simon and we go digging around for an RK800 unit you can interface with.”

You sigh, “I wish Hank was here. Do you really think splitting us up is less suspicious?” you look at North in the passenger seat.

She shrugs, “Honestly I don’t think it makes any difference. You’re both troublemakers.”

You beam, “Aw, North! That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Markus has trouble hiding his laughter before you point up at the building.

“Do you really think they still spend time guarding these places?” you peer over at the corner of a CyberLife store, now used as a storage facility due to the rebellion. “They’re basically warehouses.”

“Warehouses with hundreds of our people stuck powered off, and left behind.”

North peers at Markus from the passenger seat. “Two birds with one stone?” she asks, and you see Markus quirk a smile in the rear-view mirror.

“I’d been meaning to open up some of the CyberLife stores for a while now, but we’re already full house at Carl’s place.” he taps his jaw with a finger in thought, “Can’t seem to find reasonable real estate in Detroit the size of Jericho, either.”

“You could ask Kamski. That guy’s house is bigger than Detroit.” you deadpan.

North rolls her eyes, “Markus you should’ve scrounged that android landfill for some Chloe arms and legs instead. It’s the only models that get into god’s house.”

“I think all of us are way past redemption, don’t you?” Markus asks and North only snorts in reply before she pushes on the door and exits Hank’s car.

You look up at the CyberLife store, illumination only coming from emergency spotlights that hang from each corner of the building. You reach up and clasp the ring that hangs loosely around your neck, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Alright, let’s do this.”

And the lights go out.

 

Markus and North make easy work of the front locks and door, Markus mumbling _something_ about having déjà vu and how ‘it was much easier the first time’.

The sliding door makes a loud noise of protest as the three of you push it open. You click on your flashlight and take a step inside, turning back to the two deviants.

“Should I be worried about tripwires?”

“Doubt it.” North says, her eyes combing over the usually pristine tile, now coated in a thin layer of plaster dust. “Seems like this place hasn’t seen the light of day in a while. Not an android in sight, either.”

“I don’t get it.” you sigh, walking over to an empty podium where an old display for a child android used to be. “Why bother with the security lights and the door if the inside is spotless?”

“Outer appearances are everything.” Markus sing songs, brushing his fingers along the back wall behind the cashier station. He finds a door that sits flush with the back wall, and looks over at North.

“Got a bobby pin?” he asks her and she narrows her eyes.

“Out of the way,” she says, before rearing her leg up and drop kicking the door handle clean off.

It falls to the floor with a clatter, the only thing left being a knob-sized hole in what you’d no longer classify as a door. North fiddles around in the lock’s opening before another piece of metal falls at your feet.

“Note to self, strongest part of an android’s body is the heel.” you say, as North pulls open the door and gestures for you to enter first.

“Pretty sure that’s just a North thing.” Simon pipes up and nearly scares you out of your own skin.

“ _Jesus_ dude!” you bite out and for a moment you see North look at you with near amusement.

“Sorry,” Simon apologizes, joining the three of you as you step into the back room. “I forgot about the human non-telepathic thing.”

The four of you stand in a corridor that only seems to veer left. It’s wide enough that at least two of you could walk elbow to elbow. Posters of different android models line each side of the hallway, until you reach the end. A single door labelled ‘Authorized Personnel Only’ blocks your way. You peer over at North.

“Care to drop kick again?”

North shakes her head and points to the combination lock attached to a metal latch. “Would if I could.”

“Well now what?” Simon sighs, turning to look back at the way you’d come.

You take the combination lock in your palm and test the dial with your thumb. Your fingers absentmindedly brush against the back of the lock and you feel the telltale sign of a sticky note. Peeling it off the back of the lock, you hold it up for the three deviants to see. Exactly three numbers written in permanent marker on a pink slip of paper. The corner of the scrap is embellished with the words ‘CyberLyf Sux’

“And voila ladies and gentlemen – workers paid minimum wage.” you announce, and turn back to the combination lock, quickly entering the three numbers.

 The metal hoop of the lock clicks open and you unhook it from the latch of the door.

Markus helps you shove the door open, and you’re overcome by the urge to cough. The room smells like wet cardboard and mothballs, but you can see the silhouettes of at least twenty different androids lined up and shut off.

“Start looking around for a Connor unit, we’ll check these ones and make sure they’re alright.” Markus suggests and you nod.

You split up from the other three, letting them take stock of the rows of androids separated by shelves and shelves of unorganized documents and manuals. Spare android parts litter the floor, while piles of unused and plastic-wrapped clothing sit untouched in various nooks and crannies. You round a corner of spare wires and squeeze between the back wall and a toolbox on a wheeled cart.

And then, with his head tilted forward in what looks like slumber, is a motionless RK800.

You let out a loud sigh of relief, and push forward. “I found him!” you call, wiping your hands through his hair, dust cascading onto the shoulders of his jacket.

Markus comes up behind you and smiles, “Lucky break, detective,” he says and reaches forward. “I think it’s time for Connor to wake up.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Ow,” you pull your hand away from your task quickly, a burning sensation beginning at the tip of your ring finger.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah I just,” you look down at your finger and notice a crimson bead of blood mere centimeters from your nail. “Cut my finger open,” you finish, sighing. “Typical.”

“Let me,” he offers, and you hold your hand out to him tentatively.

You squint, “You’re not going to lick it are you?”

“Would you like me to?”

You shake your head no, and Connor quirks an amused smile, rifling around his inner jacket lining “I have bandages.”

“Do I tug on your ear to make the band-aid pop out of your mouth?” you muse, “like a sexy gumball machine?”

He shakes his head and snorts, “I know it’s a little old fashioned, but I _do_ have pockets.”

            You watch him fiddle with the protective plastic strips on either side of the bandage’s gauze, and then put his hand out as a silent request for your finger.

            You watch him carefully wrap your cut with the bandage, your eyes trailing up to the tear in his jacket sleeve.

            “I can sew that closed after dinner tonight,” you say as he finishes wrapping your finger. Connor gives a momentary glance at the spot you’re gesturing to before nodding.

            “Thank you,” he smiles up at you and you tilt your head in mild amusement.

            “Shouldn’t I be saying that, Doctor Connor?”

            He leans forward and gives you a gentle kiss, “That is inaccurate. I don’t have a PhD.”

            You sigh, pulling him in for another kiss anyway. He goes willingly, hugging you to him so tight that you’re balanced on the tip of your toes. When he relaxes, and leans you back to rest on the edge of the table, you inspect the bandage on your finger.

            “We’ll take care of each other,” you say, glancing up at him, “Won’t we?”

Connor clasps your injured hand in both of his own and smiles, saying your name affectionately, “I promise we will.”

 

  

* * *

 

 

 

            “Is he okay?” you ask, as you watch Markus put his hand back down to his side. Connor’s LED blinks blue a few times before it turns a solid yellow.

            “It’ll take a few minutes for his mental processes to boot up but we can move him.” Markus explains. “Let’s bring him out of this corner—”

            But then the telltale sound of screeching tires and shouting interrupts you.

            You stop breathing altogether, glancing over at Markus.

            “Simon?” Markus calls.

            You see Simon poke his head down the short nook you found Connor. “We have to go, Markus.” he says, his expression nervous and severe, “Now.”

            You take Connor’s arm and lead him through the piles of junk, and Connor follows out of pure automated impulse that makes it _infinitely_ easier for you to transport him.

            You rush forward with Markus, North, and Simon, all of you making sure that Connor stays with the group. When you exit the employees section and make it out to the showroom, Markus shouts something over your shoulder but it’s too late.

            You only have enough time to push Connor to the floor before you feel a sharp pain at the juncture between your shoulder and your clavicle. You collapse back into Markus, who steadies you as the muscles in your legs completely give out.

            “Oh,” you say, and you wish you could say more but the adrenaline stops you in your tracks. _I’ve been shot, how lovely._

“Hello Markus,” comes a voice from the entrance of the building. You turn your head while still in Markus’ arms but he tightens his grip on you.

“Agent Perkins.” North almost snarls, and you feel yourself break into a cold sweat as you start to bleed out.

“Don’t get distracted, now,” Perkins aims for the two of you again but Markus drags you behind a display case with him. North and Simon are nearby, having dragged Connor in a similar manner, though the LED on his temple is still yellow and his eyes are closed.

“She’s going into shock, you better get her to the hospital.” Perkins continues, and you hear him switch out the ammo of his pistol.

Markus props you against the back of the display case, stains of crimson blood smearing down the front of his coat.

North leans out from behind an accessories case and takes a shot at Perkins, who kneels out of sight. Markus looks at you and then takes hold of your arm, “He’s awake.”

“Mother _fucker!”_ North barks at Perkins, causing enough of a ruckus to distract him. She makes sure Connor is out of range before taking another shot at a nearby glass case next to Perkins. 

“Breaking into CyberLife to get a discontinued model strictly prohibited by the developer.” He clicks his tongue, glass crunching under his shoes.  “When I heard about your little accident, about how Connor had been taken care of, it seemed…suspicious.” he says, taking cover behind a support beam. “Now _why_ would Hank leave his last precious little detective _alone_ only a week after the incident?”

You throw yourself over to where Connor is sitting behind another glass panel, and you cover his body with your own before glass shatters around the two of you. Trying to pull yourself up and off him is suddenly impossible, the pain of your wound making it agonizing to move. Even twisting yourself mere centimetres sends shards of glass cascading off the back of your DCPD jacket in rivulets.

And then Connor’s eyes are open as he finishes booting up.

He uses his sleeve to wipe off the glass on your back in one smooth motion, scattering it across the floor. He tries to pull you up by your waist, quickly giving a disclaimer, “I’m sorry about this detective,” he says, and you scream from the shooting pain that quivers in your muscles when he tugs you into a seated position behind cover.

            Your body feels too cold – and when you look up at Connor, you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he does not know you. But it’s not just that which breaks your heart – it’s that you know you don’t have any time left.

“Can you interface?” you ask him, hurriedly. Your words come out slurred.

“Yes but you’re injured –”

“Good.” You say, and you shove up the sleeve of your shirt, pressing the skin of your palm against his. You can see the stain of your own blood smeared on the floor and on Connor’s jacket. “Do it.”

He doesn’t look convinced.

“ _Please_ Connor.” your voice is louder than it needs to be but you’ve never felt so desperate. Any moment later would be too late entirely.

He looks up at your eyes and acquiesces, taking hold of your bloodied hand in his own. As soon as you feel the familiar tingling of blue blood rushing to meet your interlaced hands, Connor’s eyes grow wide in alarm. It’s like an electric shock passes between you, your entire body screaming in protest at the pain. The wound at your shoulder feels like it’s burning hot, hotter than anything you’ve ever felt.

You see Connor’s LED processing, from red, to yellow, the sound of gunfire and Agent Perkins miles and miles away because you’re floating and you finally _finally_ saved him –

 

And as your body collapses into shock,

 

 

Connor breathes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to clarify real quick that North referring to Kamski’s place as “god’s house” is a jab at him and not meant to insinuate that literally any of the androids see him as their leader lmao// I imagine the deviants also don’t care for Kamski in general, except for Connor who I think gained his respect in actual dbh gameplay (rejecting Kamski’s offer and upping Hank’s friendship)


End file.
